


The Rocket In Your Pocket

by redleather



Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Bob's giant crush on One Two, Mentions of Violence, Multi, Swearing, what's going on in Bob's head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 19:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5468909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redleather/pseuds/redleather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The grass. The fucking grass,” he thinks. “I’m going down for a fucking five stretch and that nasty, slimy fucking toerag, whoever he is, is sending me there. If I ever find him, I’m going to shove the wide end of a cricket bat up his arsehole and see how he fucking likes it. Oh God, I’m gonna be sick into my chips.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rocket In Your Pocket

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkandstormyslash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandstormyslash/gifts).



> For Yuletide 2015. Oh god I hope you like this!

“The grass. The fucking grass,” he thinks. “I’m going down for a fucking five stretch and that nasty, slimy fucking toerag, whoever he is, is sending me there. If I ever find him, I’m going to shove the wide end of a cricket bat up his arsehole and see how he fucking likes it. Oh God, I’m gonna be sick into my chips.”

Handsome Bob is trying to keep his mind off the crushing inevitable, but that’s a bit of a challenge, what with everyone attempting to commiserate. The thoughts cycle round, again and again and a-fucking-gain, and the countdown marches steadily onwards towards towards D-Day: Detention at Her Majesty’s pleasure. 

Fred is obsessively asking about how it feels, adamant he won’t get the full five.

“What ya talkin’ about? Fred, they’ve got a grass. They’ve got a rat with a roach smoking a canary. They’ve got more information than the fucking internet,” he’d said, trying to put it to bed. Fred persists in not taking the hint. Day after day, night after, whether it’s cards or the ponies he’s poring over, it’s always something. And he means well, does Fred, he does, because he’s done a couple of stretches himself and his latest one was the result of the grass too, but Bob wishes he’d fucking leave it.

“Mumbles can I have a word?” asks One Two, strutting up to the table looking happier than he should be for a man that owes Lenny Cole two large.

“Will he visit my mum when while I’m gone,” wonders Bob. “I went to see Delia nearly every day. Brought her her shopping when she was too down in the dumps. He bloody broke her heart.”

Then all of sudden, One Two has his arse out, waving it in Mumbles’ face, waving it in BOB’S face, and he realises he’s staring at him like he might bore a hole through his head, and now through the arse. Oh, bad choice of words. It’s like simultaneously getting kicked in the nuts, while getting a blow job. Do you cum or do you cry?

Mumbles gets up and follows, quick look to the side, catching Bob’s eye. He’s caught him staring. Gut punch. Control yourself mate. Mumbles must know, he must know something. Well how could he bloody miss it, he’s been telegraphing it so loudly he might as well be aggressively shouting ‘I want One Two’s cock in my mouth’ at tourists from the top of the London Eye. 

No. Fucking relax. Maybe he just means it like ‘check out this plonker, what we have to put up with, am I right?’. Yeah, maybe that’s what that look meant. Yeah.

“Coming Dear,” says Mumbles.

Maybe not.

~*~

Day before he’s due for sentencing, Handsome Bob is in the Speeler, as always. It’s cards, as always. D-Day is nigh, and one small thought he’d spent years shoving to the back of his mind has grown legs and is running around inside his skull like a drunken toddler.

“You should tell One Two you love him!” it shouts in his ear every time he sees his best mate. “You should tell him, because you’re going to prison tomorrow for five years, and they’ll probably find out you’re a nonce within two seconds and you’ll be buggered to death by a burly fixer called Steve.”

The job with Mumbles went down okay, and One Two is delighted with himself. Bob is trying not to stare, Bob is trying to focus on the game, but he’s doing a piss poor job and his hand is shaking under the table. Fred leans in.

“So tell me, Handsome, you’re old Mum, can’t be very happy eh, what with you gettin’ a five stretch.”

“Please Fred, not again, yeah?” because at this point he’s beyond getting sick into his chips, he’s going to punch Fred’s well-meaning head in, then puke up his whole intestines, and then probably have a little cry.

One Two is reading the paper, oblivious.

“If I tell him,” he thinks “and he fucking hates me for it, will he still go visit Mum?”

And thinking of his Mum, utterly friendless for five years, with the state Delia was in for just two, well it puts the fear into him once more, and the voice inside his head telling him to confess all gets quietened, but not silenced.

~*~

One Two is so pleased with himself, he gets cheeky enough to pop a little extra something into Archy’s pocket. If there was a penny less than what Lenny was asking in that bag, he wouldn’t have been so cocky, but it's all there. Ultimately, all Lenny wanted was his money, right, and by extension, so did Archy. That was that, then. Still, tactically a bad move, thinks Bob, knowing what a long memory Archy has.

“Ladies,” says Archy with a sibilant hiss as he was leaving. Gut punch, flared nostril. No, he doesn’t know, calm your tits mate. It’s always the same feeling, the fear that he’s got a giant neon sign above his head that reads “Handsome Bob: Giant Poof”.

So business concluded, One Two is rubbing his palms together. He’s bringing Bob out that night.

~*~

He couldn’t help himself in the end. It was his last night on earth, or at least it felt that way. The confession in the car does not go well. One Two does apologise and he does take Bob for a dance, and Bob tries not to cry too much all over his shirt, but you can’t really unhear the things that are said to you, can you? There’s not going to be a tearful, yet manly, confession of mutual love in a gravelly Paisley accent. Hardly surprising, yet still hoped for.

One Two isn’t in court the next day.

~*~

“Oh there he is!”

One Two makes a pretty pathetic attempt to slink in unnoticed as if it’s all business as usual

“Not very compassionate is it, not turning up to your amigo’s funeral?”

“And I’ve got a feeling, that the only person Handsome wanted to see there.. was you,” says Fred as he shuffles the deck of cards.

“I’m sorry I ever thought I wanted to punch your face in Fred,” thinks Bob, as he sneaks up on One Two’s back like a cartoon robber.

Slight argy-bargy ensues as Cookie tries to placate One Two. Bob comically dodges and weaves to avoid banging into him before he throws his arms around One Two and says “Surprise” in his ear. He wonders how the boys kept a straight face.

Aren’t you delighted, he tries to say with his crooked grin, arms outstretched like a showman. Aren’t you fucking ecstatic that your best mate, (who you didn’t see off in court, even though I went when it was your turn) didn’t get sent down after all? He tries not to let anyone see his heartbreak when it’s abundantly clear that One Two is not fucking pleased in actual fact.

“You’re supposed to be in fucking-”

Bob frowns. Mumble’s eyes nearly get whiplash darting between Bob and One Two.

“Oh he has to know now,” thinks Bob. “Fuck.”

Saved by the bell, or rather the phone, One Two goes off to the store room to take a call.

Mumbles gives Bob a look, like he might actually penetrate into his soul.

“Yeah,” thinks Bob. “Yeah. Fuck. Yeah he does know. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck”

~*~

At the party, he finally gets to meet the competition, in the form of the diminutive Stella.

“Well, at least she isn’t tall and blonde,” he thinks, as if it somehow makes it better that Bob isn’t One Two’s ‘type’ in that sense.

One Two is not happy to see him there, won’t even let him be in the same room as him. Bob tries to play it cool, like it hasn’t deeply hurt his feelings.

“So now I can’t even be in the same building as you,” he thinks. “I was your best fucking mate and now you don’t invite me to parties. I didn’t even ask you to toss my off, you giant Scottish twat.”

He’s probably told them all, and now no-one wants to even look him in the eye. Except Mumbles.

One Two disappears off to Dad-dance with Stella.

Mumbles scoops up Bob, and he’s grateful for a second that he still has a friend, until he realises that Mumbles has a little job for him; go flirt with their toffee-nosed host. Bob makes out for a second that he’s offended, and then the word ‘informer’ is mentioned and suddenly all pretense is dropped. 

Suddenly the opportunity to make good that threat with the cricket bat floats before his face. Bearing in mind that Bertie went to Eton, there’s probably a cricket bat in the house somewhere that’s already fit for purpose, having seen similar action in the boy’s dormitory.

Mumbles watches Bob in action with a pleased, feral expression, like he’s just set his best attack dog to bite a criminal on the bum.

Bob is trying to wangle the information out of Bertie who’s remarkably good at playing coy. Well, he’s a not a solicitor because he’s shit at negotiating and Bob changes tactics. He goes for the ‘Bit of Rough with a Brain’ approach. Oh yeah, that works, he notices after demanding Bertie’s mobile.

“Do as your told,” he says to Bertie who goes still. He produces his phone with an alacrity that matches the erection he is suddenly sporting.

“Oh it’s like that,” thinks Bob. “Yeah I’ll bet you like to be tied up spanked like a naughty schoolboy.”

That image almost makes Bob, pop a stiffy too, so he jets off at speed. It works a treat though, as Bertie’s already so firmly entrenched in the palm of his hand it’s kind of embarrassing. Bob thinks he actually will fuck him, just to see the look on his face.

~*~  
“Alright,” he ponders “so Mumbles knows and somehow he’s got around One Two, coz clearly I’m forgiven.”

The heist was a fucking car wreck, not unlike the state of the car he ploughed into with the truck. At least they’re all still alive, just about.

“I’m going back to bed,” says One Two.

“Can I come?” says Bob softly, testing the waters with a joke.

One Two slaps him on the side of the hand, but he laughs loudly and happily and Bob smiles too.

Mumbles sneaks him a wink and a smile.

~*~

Who the fuck is Sidney Shaw? And where _did_ One Two learn the word pseudonym?

~*~

Johnny Quid lifts Bob’s hood in the freight lift and deduces the rest of the motley crew from his presence. He gets a slap from Archy for his troubles. Not fair really, Johnny’s not a bad guy. Pity about all the crack.

Bob listens to the sound of Johnny’s voice shift from one side of the room to the next, hears the echo of his voice in a room that’s too large, smells the river, feels the damp concrete under his knees. They are fish food if they don't do something.

More talking. There’s something about a painting that Lenny desperately wants, and that’s lost on Bob but then Johnny’s saying something and it sets an alarm off in his head. Then Johnny’s shot and taken away and it’s really going off. He puts two and two together and gets a paperwork-shaped four that’s burning a hole inside his jacket pocket. Lenny, Sidney, could they be the one person? Only one person besides Lenny would know, and Lenny’s just shot someone trying to keep it quiet.

He screams it at Archy and gives him a look when he pulls up his hood. The file better mean something or else the last thing he’ll have ever done on this earth is give Bertie Baxter a blow job for no good reason.

Oh and it goes off like a nuclear blast. So he was right. Fuck. Lenny Cole all along. They’re cut loose, they scarper, and collect poor bleeding Johnny along the way.

“Christ,” thinks Bob “that was close. I’m definitely going to have to fuck Bertie now.”


End file.
